


The One Man Fireteam

by PenelopeWaits



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Third Person Limited, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeWaits/pseuds/PenelopeWaits
Summary: Warning!  This work contains spoilers for S04E01.  .  This is a short series of prognostications about what is happening in the mind of John Watson during and immediately after The Six Thatchers.





	1. The Irish Lilt*

The girl was certainly his type. Full figure, firm breasts, fresh face, nice eyes, sweet smile, pretty but not too pretty... the flirtation on the bus was flattering. He wasn't actually old enough to be her father, although that thought was sobering. Suddenly he imagined a naive Rosamund flirting with an older man in a failing marriage. He turned back, thinking that he should warn her off somehow, and caught sight of his reflection and the absurd flower. He relaxed. It was all fine, she'd been having a gentle laugh at the silly middle aged man. He turned away and startled. The sweet young thing was directly in front of him, smiling, shyly speaking. He chatted her up a bit, operating on social autopilot. When she gave him her number, he laughed, speechless.

He stared at the slip of paper, wondered if he should call her, just to caution her. She wasn’t a child, though. He smiled a bit, wishing he were ten years younger, wishing he was unattached, wishing he were more optimistic about love, about life. He folded the paper and started to drop it in the waste bin. Unbidden, an Irish face, an Irish voice, another slip of paper flirtatiously offered, all floated up from his memory.

“I gave you my number. I thought you might call.”

Bollocks.

=====++++++++=========

N.B. According to the great and wonderful miracle worker, Ariane Devere, the mysterious redhead has a Scottish accent. I bow to her superior expertise and edited this a bit. I still think there is something rotten going on... (http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/)


	2. An Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, "Six Thatcher" spoilers and my own cogitation on the episode.
> 
> John contemplates the gulf between him and Mary and what he knows about Rosamund.  
> =========================================================

The gulf between them might have been light years rather than centimeters. He couldn’t force himself to reach across it and she wouldn’t risk initiating something again. He couldn’t remember the last time they touched with affection. They hadn’t made love since the day after Sherlock was shot. That night, he had crawled into their bed, into her arms, needing some sense of life, of hope. The thought of her comforting him then, of her duplicitous words that night, made him nauseous.

 

Their conversations had always carried barbs; that was not a real change. But up until now, Rosamund had been an exception. They had both been unfailingly loving, positive and gentle in their conversations about Rosie. She was their angel, a lynchpin of civility, their talisman of family.

 

They were both exhausted, had been for days. That must have been the reason for her slip, her unwitting confession. He knew from his A&E rotations how that wore parents down, brought them to do things that would be unimaginable on a full night’s sleep. Tonight it brought her to speak the truth, twisted through a funhouse mirror.

 

His sweet girl, the cuckoo in the nest, the result of a madman’s planning, plotting… Put in place to realize a cruel plan. It was an absurd, paranoid thought, and it chilled his blood.

 


	3. In Arduis Fidelis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John contemplates the roles of faith and trust in his life and doesn't like what he sees.
> 
> A double 221b... And many thanks to those who took a moment to read and especially to comment.

Tragedy and absurdity shared the stage at Bastion. One Christmas Eve, a nurse in reindeer antlers took a pair of human legs to the incinerator. That had been Murray. The next day, a surgeon too hung over to speak at 0700 repaired an entire colon before noon. That was John. They were not nice people, but they trusted each other like a fire team on patrol. Every man and woman had your back and you had theirs.

 

In Arduis Fidelis… that’s what he missed when they sent him away, back to London. He missed the faithfulness; the trust. He got it back at Baker Street. With Sherlock, he could sleep again, eat without vomiting later, sit without his back to the wall, laugh.

 

Sherlock wasn’t nice either… Odd, vain, self centered, all rough edges… But squaddies don’t care about niceties among their mates. For a while, it was better than Bastion, more hopeful, less morally ambiguous. They were a fire team of two and it was perfect.

 

Even the suicide didn’t erode his trust. Who understood the bone deep weariness, the call of rest and darkness, better than him? He wept, grieved and he kept living because he had a testimony to give. He was a witness to the truth. He told everyone about the amazing man and his quirky brilliance.

 

###=###

 

Then it was all a lie. Sherlock had no faith in John and John’s faith had been wasted. He was a fool to think otherwise. He’d been nothing but a fool ever since. There was no trust outside the war zone. so he barricaded that part of his heart. He substituted eros and caritas for fides, love for faith. It was a poor bargain.

 

In the end, it didn’t matter if he loved them, or how much he loved them, both of them. Disappointment took up permanent residence in his heart. They both saw it in his face, heard it in his voice. They ridiculed him as credulous, good but not clever, steady but not quick, nice but not competent, not trustworthy. He began to think they were right.

 

Trust was the thing he was starving for… he was empty without it, all the time. Only Rosie trusted him, quieted under his touch, gurgled when he sang, laughed when he tickled her tum. He had no certainty in her provenance, no optimism about the final outcome, but he was the only protection she had. He would not abandon the one person who trusted him, who needed him.

 

He was surrounded by adversity and there was no faithfulness in sight.

 

He was a one-man fire team and nobody had his back.

 

                                                                                      ###=###

In Arduis Fidelis - Faithful in adversity, the motto of the Royal Medical Corp

Eros - Romantic/ sexual love

Caritas - Caring, protective love

Fides - faith


	4. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, an epilogue! Seems I got bitten by the 221b bug.  
> ======================================

“The roads we walk have demons beneath, and yours have been waiting for a very long time.”

 

“Was that supposed to be a big reveal, Mycroft? It’s not exactly news.”

 

“Not to you perhaps, but to some people…”

 

“Everyone has blind spots, even the brightest, most observant people.”

 

“Concealing those particular demons from Mary Morstan was quite an accomplishment. I’m curious, however did you do it for so very long?”

 

“I never tried to conceal anything. Hiding things would have only… raised suspicions. She wanted to believe I was good, honest, so that’s what she saw.”

 

“So very true… I must admit I underestimated your capacity for subtlety, but you count on that, don’t you? Being underestimated?”

 

“Look, you already know the facts, have done for years, so why am I here, Mycroft? I thought we established years ago that I don’t respond well to intimidation.”

 

“There has been a sudden uptick in interest in some archived records. The records have been redacted, of course, but a clever person could fill in the blanks.”

 

“And what records are those?”

 

“Tell me, doctor, what would the public think if they found out the truth about the mysterious disappearance of Colonel Sebastian Moran?”

 

John looked the taller man directly in the eye. “I have no regrets”, he said, “He was a right bastard.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Seasons 1 & 2 were really from John Watson's point of view, allowing us to marvel at Sherlock's brilliance, to get totally deceived by Sherlock's tricks and then to suffer with John as Sherlock "fell". S04E01 is totally NOT from John's POV, leading me to think that this time it is John who is carrying all the secrets. Here is one set of possibilities


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